


Tempo

by bionically



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Kinda, Pining, Post-Hogwarts, Soulmates, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 17:31:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18665077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionically/pseuds/bionically
Summary: Draco's good deed is punished. How bloody typical.On the verge of a suitable marriage, a chance meeting with a mysterious time witch gives Draco a chance to review his options.





	1. Grave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [otterlyardent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterlyardent/gifts).



It was the sight of the child running out into the street that did it.

 

In the normal scheme of things, Draco was fairly apathetic in character—or he had been recently. Life seemed to stretch out ahead of him in a long list of items on an agenda. Now, without his father to constantly remind him of how he was expected to behave, he felt all the more at a loss. There would never again be a Lucius Malfoy to tell him how to behave, and Draco couldn't even summon up enough sadness or relief over his father's passing. 

 

On the other hand, he still had another parent to remind him of social niceties and his filial duties. If Draco was on edge, Narcissa was even more wound up and would inquire after his welfare constantly. For example, when he returned from the washroom, his mother deemed it necessary to check him over to make sure he hadn’t been Polyjuiced and replaced by a body double or suffered any unforeseen injury. Things had changed after the war, and they were never going to be the same again, and Draco had no idea how to make things better. His father had turned out to be a poor giver of advice, but now Draco was devoid of even that.

 

It turned out that Draco had exchanged one puppeteer parent for another, and Narcissa Malfoy was doing her best to step up to bat. This was the reason for his soon to be announced engagement. Narcissa's recent priorities in life had comprised of constant hinting about the brevity of life, not to mention hauling out all of Draco's old childhood items in a massive cleaning spell. There was also the sudden influx of books and magazines on topics such as “How to Find the Perfect Spouse for You Using Astromancy” and “The Safest Cleaning Spells for a Child-Proofed House” that had finally convinced him; his mother had officially lost the plot.

 

Unfortunately, his resolution to remain clear of the fray had never been as strong as Narcissa's good intentions. Draco was piss-poor at defying his parents even when there had been good reason to do so. Without any strong convictions, Draco found himself swept along by the tide of Narcissa’s activities.

 

A casual set-up led to a few offhand dates, which alerted his mother into arranging a dinner party, which subsequently evolved into regular afternoon tea sessions and finally an al fresco picnic for close friends of around twenty. Draco had been convinced that most of them were hired from another country since he couldn't recall a one of the attendants, but soon there were dinners and proper Pureblooded dates such as visiting the magical karstic caves in a guided tour or listening to an underwater concerto. Extremely exciting stuff, or maybe they would have been if he had actually been attending. Draco might have tuned out for a majority of said events, which is why he woke up one day to be confronted with the reality that he was getting engaged to Astoria Greengrass.

 

That was not to say that Astoria Greengrass was a boring cream puff of a witch. Yes, she was beautiful in that perfectly coiffed manner, in which not a strand of hair was out of place, not even when attending the underwater concerto. The folds of her dresses always fell just so, her hands were often tucked in her lap like two interlocking Vs, and her feet were always slanted under her chair off to the side. Even so, she always listened intently to his conversation, and if he dismissed a topic out of hand, she would make a token argument before diplomatically backing off, acquiescing to the haughtiness in his narrowed eyes—which he sometimes affected just as an experiment.

 

He didn't think she was stupid. If she were, she would have pressed some of his buttons at some point. The fact that she didn't at all showed that she was observant and cunning. 

 

Draco had figured out what was happening with Astoria just a little too late. When he had been a boy of eight, he had come to the realisation that other little boys had mums who weren't as well-put-together as his. His mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole world, and he told her that. “I want to marry someone just like you,” he had told his mother.

 

Narcissa had laughed and been very touched. The story was repeated to his father at dinnertime, and his fond father had said to his mother, “The boy has good taste.” They had laughed. Draco had gotten an extra serving of mille-feuille. It had been a good day. All that was before the soul-crushing time he had at Hogwarts, where his pretensions were squashed for all time.

 

His mother had maybe taken his avowal a bit too much to heart. Over the next few years, she continued to question him on particulars: did he prefer blonde hair or brunette? did he prefer tall or short? quiet or outspoken? By then, Draco had been thirteen and schooled by a few years of Hogwarts politics. So, he had told his mother that he preferred someone  _ exactly _ like her. Blonde, tall, Pureblooded, demure, fashionable, quiet, etc., etc.

 

Astoria Greengrass was indeed all of that. She was such a copy of Narcissa that, when they ventured out, she was taken for her daughter. The fact was, Draco and Astoria had even been taken for twins on one of their dates. 

 

Draco had been so immersed in his own miseries that he had simply acquiesced to all of Narcissa's demands rather than make a giant fuss (and have to do whatever she wanted anyway). He never realised he was dating Astoria until her mother brought up “picking a date” over tea. Draco had sputtered and glanced over at Astoria, who blushed and focused her attention on her tea before glancing up at him through her eyelashes.

 

If he had been in love with someone else, maybe he could have said something. He wasn't, and there was nothing to say. He was inexorably on the road to marriage, followed by—if his mother's astromancy calculations were accurate and he doubted it—three blond children. Oh joy.

 

Draco supposed it wasn't the worst thing in the world to have children. He had enjoyed bossing around the younger students at Hogwarts since he had never had any siblings or even cousins with whom to play. He had never meant his underclassmen any permanent, malicious harm, though many people probably saw his actions in a different light. 

 

So when Draco saw the little girl toddling out into the street, he raced after her. A brief thought of consequences of such an action and the negative attention it would draw to him flashed across his mind. He was probably quick enough to grab her out of the street.

 

He almost was. 

 

Unfortunately, Muggles were idiots and this one swerved from the path Draco had predicted—up the curb and towards him. 

 

Draco managed to wrap up the little girl in his arms before he tumbled head over heels onto the pavement.

 

Life was grand.

 

* * *

 

When he woke, it was to find a wizened face staring down at him.

 

“St. Mungo's?” He winced and shielded his face from the light shining from behind the witch's head. Other than that, he felt incredibly well-rested, as though he had been sleeping for two days. 

 

He tried to sit up and the face above him receded, along with surprisingly small shoulders above equally short arms. Draco groaned as the aches all over his body started to manifest. “Are you sure you gave me pain relief potions?” 

 

The light was at a manageable level now, hidden behind some buildings. Draco blinked and took a look around, his arms paused in mid-air. He was not in St. Mungo's, after all, or even in a bed. The ground was hard as rock beneath him. To his left, not three feet away, was the bonnet of a familiar blue car with a person-sized dent on top. Draco hoped that he wasn't the one to have made the dent, but the aches all over his body said otherwise.

 

That wasn't the only strange thing about this scenario, however. 

 

There was no one rushing up to inquire after his welfare. Granted, he had been persona non grata for a few years after the war, but now even the silence felt unnatural.

 

He pulled himself up onto one arm and gingerly swivelled his upper body around. Other than the little person standing in front of him in the middle of the seaside road in Honfleur, France, not a thing stirred around him. He slowly turned his head back around to look at the only other moving person in this scenario.

 

“I didn't give you pain relief at all,” she said, not moving from his line of sight.

 

Or was she a witch? Draco eyed her warily. He was almost the same height as she was sitting down, and from the look of her nut-brown wrinkled skin, she wasn't a child. She had long, curly hair all down her back. Suddenly, he realised where he had seen her before. 

 

He connected the rest of the dots in this scenario. “I tried to rescue you.” 

 

She wasn't a little girl at all, but some sort of a witch who had halted all the people and things in their immediate surroundings. A very powerful witch, then. Or… something else?

 

Draco felt for the wand in his sleeve and slowly lurched to his feet, turning unsteadily on his feet as he took in the normally busy wharf. Aside from the soft breeze stirring a few flags and the leaves on the trees fluttering, nothing moved. The entire plaza was at a standstill. His head still felt woozy and he cautiously felt all over his scalp for any tender areas or swollen bumps. Nothing. It was as though he hadn't even been knocked to the ground, even though the memory of it still existed in his mind.

 

The car that had driven up the curb was stalled, and the driver had been halted as he attempted to exit his car. His head was ducked, half in and half out of the open door, one hand on the steering wheel and the other braced on top of his car door. His eyes were open and still; his mouth open to voice some unspoken exclamation.

 

A waitress from the nearest cafe had put out one hand, the other hand on her mouth. Her eyes, too, were open and unmoving.

 

All around them were similar other people, frozen in the time that he had jumped out in the street to save the little girl.

 

Draco's lips flattened into a grimace as he turned his attention to the person he had saved. The only thing young about her was her small frame. From behind, she could easily have been mistaken for a little girl. But her face was wizened and lined and her eyes shrewd and focused.

 

“Am I dead?” Draco asked. There should have been more things going through his head if he had died. Curiously, though, all he felt was a strange sense of detachment. Maybe he really had died. Surely, he should have felt something more than simply resignation.

 

“No.”

 

“You're a witch.” His statement lifted on a questionly lilt as his eyes took in her strange little figure.

 

“You can call me whatever you want. You tried to save me. You did a good thing, so I shall repay you.”

 

Draco glanced back at the little woman, frowning in bemusement. There was something unsettling about her, in a way that even Draco wasn't accustomed to. She wore a little pink dress that, on her small frame, would definitely have confused most people about her age. As he watched, something shifted in her face and, though she didn't move, she suddenly looked substantially younger, like the little girl he had initially taken her for.

 

Draco took a wary step back, keeping his eyes on her. “Maybe you can repay me by being more careful in the future.” He frowned as a thought struck him. “You're British.”

 

“No.”

 

They were in the north of France and she had had a British accent.

 

As if she knew what was passing through his mind, she smiled at him. “Do you even see my lips moving as I talk?” 

 

She was right. Now that she had pointed it out, he realised that her lips remained in an enigmatic, unmoving curve while the words simply materialised in his head.  _ Legilimency _ , he thought and threw up a wall of mind defense, drawing out his wand at the same time. 

 

He felt rather than heard her sigh. “No need for that,” she said or maybe she didn't; he was too busy defending his brain. “I saw your sadness and I am at liberty to help you change one thing in your life—if you so desire.”

 

As he watched her through narrowed eyes, her image flickered and she turned, once again, into the young eight-year-old girl. He shook his head and blinked hard to dispel the unsettling changes happening in front of him.

 

Her words were that of a genie offering tantalising wishes and then he realised—

 

“You're a chronostarii,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “A time witch.” 

 

He wasn’t sure if he believed it. Time witches were so rare; most were thought to have died out a long time ago. But legend had it that they existed; ageless, childlike, solitary, able to bend time to their will. It accounted for almost everything that was happening before him right now. It was possibly the most interesting thing that had happened to him in recent history; yet he felt as excited as if he had been served with chicken for dinner instead of fish. He massaged the back of his head with his other hand.

 

She shrugged, as though not much concerned by his need to understand her. “What is one thing you regret most?”

 

There were still many things that Draco regretted by now that he had no idea where to start. His wand arm wavered in resolve and fell to chest-level. If he had the time to ponder his regrets, he'd have a list, or no, a scroll. For a moment, the image that leapt into his mind was a cloud of riotous brown hair and a pair of slim, nimble hands and deft fingers as they sent a flurry of books flying through the air—

 

“Done,” the chronostarii said and gave him a curious look. “Not what I expected but refreshing nonetheless.”

 

“Pardon?” he said, brows scrunched together in confusion. “Just a minute, I haven't said anything yet! What—”

 

She just looked up at him with a strange little smile, which alarmed him more than he could say. He couldn't say anything anyway, because the scene around him suddenly started to dial back in time. He found himself in midair with flailing limbs and saw the Muggles on the street re-enter momentum. The world snapped back into movement like a rubber band, but he continued to float through a series of images, yelling at the top of his lungs all the while. Things flickered in and out of focus and he felt the sudden pull behind his navel like the sensation of a Portkey. During all this time, he continued to see two long, almond-shaped eyes the colour of amber before he popped out of the reality of Honsfleur.

 

He was never saving another person again.


	2. Al Coda

Draco was sleeping, dreaming. For the past few weeks, he had been lost in beautiful dreams of a fairy-tale wedding and a blissful married life comprised of laughing and loving. It almost made a man not want to wake up.

 

He gradually drifted conscious to a tickling sensation under his chin. He lifted a lazy hand to scratch his jaw. “Mmm, Granger, your hair’s tickling me.”

 

There was a sharp indrawn breath and then, “Granger?” from a unexpected but somehow familiar voice.

 

Draco sat bolt upright in bed, reflexively hauling the bedsheets to his chest for modesty. He stared into the face of Astoria Greengrass, who was perched on the bed in disturbingly close proximity to him.

 

“What-what the hell are you doing here?” His voice rose to a embarrassingly high pitch. “Where's Hermione?”

 

“Granger?” Astoria took in how he shied away from her on the bed, her eyes flickering in confusion. “As in Hermione Granger?”

 

“Hermione Malfoy,” he said, staring at his former fiancee with wide eyes. Was this turning into some strange drama with jealous exes?

 

Astoria sank down onto her haunches and surveyed him with narrowed eyes. “Did you have a dream, Draco? You’re sleep-walking again.” She snapped her fingers in front of his face.

 

He scowled at her and pushed aside her hand. “Quit it. Where’s my wife, Astoria?”

 

Astoria's eyebrows rose. “Draco,  _ I’m _ your wife, remember? Let’s not have this every time I spend the night with you.”

 

“You’re—what?” Draco’s mouth opened and closed like an unattractive fish. He grabbed the sheet, wrapping it securely around him as he got out of the bed. There was an uncomfortable moment when he stumbled over an edge of the blanket and almost fell flat on his face. There was possibly a snicker from Astoria, but when he looked up at her, her face was carefully blank.

 

She pushed off the bed, her blond hair swinging against her back as she stood up and faced him with her hands on her hips. He made the mistake of glancing at her to find that she was all but naked in her thin nightie. He groaned and cursed under his breath before looking away and covering his eyes with his hand. She pulled his hand away and looked straight into his eyes. “Now, I know better than to think that Hermione would cheat on her husband, so I'm guessing you had some kind of kinky dream about her. I'm not angry, so just calm down.”

 

“I should be the one angry here,” he said, now getting het-up. “ _ What _ are you even doing, staying the night here?”

 

“ _ We _ are married, Draco,” Astoria said with infinite patience. “Remember? You and me.” She held up a hand and he leaned out of the way reflexively, thinking she was going to strike him. Instead, she pointed at her left hand, where a ring adorned her ring finger. “Remember this?”

 

He followed her pointed nod and gazed down at his hand where—holy hell, an identical ring decorated his hand. “I don’t remember this,” he said, holding his left hand out and away from his body. He looked back at Astoria with suspicious eyes. “Did you put this on me during the night?”

 

She sighed and turned away from him, walking towards the adjoining sitting room. “I’ll get Blippi to put extra Pepper-Up in your morning tea. I’ll see you at noon,  _ darling _ . We have to make the most of the fertility cycle this month.” Her voice became muffled as she walked further away, through the sitting room to the adjoining chamber.

 

“What fertility cycle?” he asked the empty air. There was a loud clack as the door shut behind Astoria. 

 

He rubbed his face with a hand, letting the sheet drop to the floor around his bare feet. He was nude, which meant that the previous night had been spent—

 

Draco groaned. He had better not spend too much time thinking about it. If he concentrated on thinking nothing happened, it could very possibly come true. First, he'd have to track down Hermione to make sure she didn't kill him for getting up to whatever hijinks led to this.

 

He looked all around the room and pulled on the trousers that were tossed over one chair. He was unmistakably in the Manor, but this room wasn’t his bedroom. This was one of the state rooms in the southeastern corner, with a view of the back gardens and the Quidditch pitch. The two rooms were connected by a sitting room. There was no reason for Astoria to be in the other bedroom, or for him to be in this one, for that matter. Draco numbly walked toward the sitting room to tell Astoria so.

 

The last time he recalled this chamber being used was back when the Malfoy Manor had turned into an impromptu Death Eater hotel. It had been very clearly refurbished since then and now was wallpapered with colorful flowery sprigs. A portrait hung on the wall on one side, the side that faced out through the bedchamber. One of his Malfoy ancestors, Lucretia Malfoy, stared sourly at him as though she had been spying on him the entire night. How lovely. “I’ve seen more romantic performances at a hippocampi race,” she said, before sitting back in her armchair and closing her eyes.

 

Draco blushed and spun away from her portrait, his stomach starting to churn uncomfortably with guilt. What a way to start the day. This must be some sort of ridiculous prank or a trick, and he would make Hermione understand that. There was no way that he would have chosen to be with Astoria when  _ she _ was the one he had always wanted—

 

Draco stopped short before the other wall, which was covered with a giant wedding portrait. Of someone who looked remarkably like him and—Astoria Greengrass.

 

Oh bloody hell.

 

Draco faced another disorienting event when he Apparated to his old room to find that all his things had disappeared from it. He had to return to the southeastern chamber to get dressed. All his clothes had been moved there, so for a moment, he stood there while his mind rapidly considered his reality. 

 

After hurriedly getting dressed in his new room, Draco stumbled out into the hallway, wondering just where Granger was in this timeline. They had gotten married--the chronostarii had shown it to him--so why was he now married to Astoria? An even more terrible possibility came to him then, that he was a remarried widower. 

 

For a moment, he lurched down the hallway, looking a poor figure barefoot and traipsing around in haphazard-looking attire. He was just that frazzled that he didn't care about it. This was definitely the Manor. None of the portraits appeared in the least bit worried or anxious, and usually they were the first to know. Some of them were chatting to each other, but one of his fancy ancestors called out, “Get dressed properly, you namby-pamby fool!”

 

He was almost to the stairs when he saw a house-elf blinking into view and about to blink out again. “Wait. You—house-elf. Where’s Hermione? Your mistress.”

 

He thought he would explode from impatience as the house-elf tried to absorb and cogitate the complicated inquiry he had given her. Her eyes were larger than flowerpots and she was quivering as though the words were too much for her. “Meeper does not know of a Hermione, master,” she said finally, looking scared and sounding squeaky. “The mistress, Mrs. Malfoy, is in her chambers.” This burst of information seemed to have exhausted her completely; she quivered all over upon finishing.

 

He gave the house-elf a long narrow look. “You aren't one of my house-elves.  I don’t recognise you.”

 

“Meeper has been here for a year, Master Draco. Meeper is now bonded to the Malfoy family since Mistress married Master Draco.”

 

“Mistress  _ who _ ?” Draco asked, sounding so angry and flinty that the house-elf looked even more scared than before, until she was almost on her knees. Draco remembered that Hermione really disapproved of mistreating house-elves and probably would consider his yelling to be a type of mistreatment. He took a deep breath and stepped back.

 

“Astoria Malfoy, master,” the house-elf said before cowering in expectation of a blow.

 

“And before that, who was mistress here?” Draco asked.

 

“Narcissa Malfoy, master,” the house-elf whispered.

 

Draco debated whether it was worth it to question Meeper some more, but as giant tears were now flowing out of the elf's saucer-like eyes, he gave it up as a lost cause. He growled in frustration instead and strode to the Floo.

 

On the way, he was suddenly besieged by even more troublesome thoughts. The chronostarii had promised him a favour, which usually entailed a change for the better. So far, his life was decidedly  _ worse _ . The quick glimpse she had given him wasn't the one he was now experiencing, and he was very confused about what was future and what was past.

 

Once in the Floo, he snapped out Hermione’s last address, only realising at the very last minute that he should have gone to the Ministry instead.

 

When he looked out of the Floo, he wasn't in the Ministry or Hermione's last address, but an office space and not a residence. He stopped short and looked all about him. 

 

Someone cleared his throat next to him and Draco jerked around. Next to him stood a young man with a face completely covered with pimples. “Come for your appointment? Name, please?” A quill and notepad bobbed in the air behind him.

 

Draco would have liked dearly to simply have shouted out Granger's name at the top of his lungs. Even Harry Potter's presence now wouldn't have gone amiss. But as neither were in the immediate proximity, Draco lowered his voice to answer. “Hermione. Where's Hermione Granger?” 

 

Malfoy, he corrected himself at the last minute. 

 

He almost didn't expect her to be here and was filled with a surge of relief when the pimply individual, who was probably an intern, said, “She's in a meeting right now. Could I take your name and business, sir?”

 

Mouth dry, Draco said, “Draco Malfoy.”

 

There was a tapping of a wand against a notepad and the intern made an excessively expressive moue of disappointment at Draco. “I don't have you down for an appointment, sir, so would you like to come back some other time?”

 

Draco cut across the intern’s speech. “Where's her office?” 

 

“It's the corner office there. Sir? Sir, would you follow me, please? If you could have a seat, you can tell me about your grievance and we'll schedule an appointment. Friday is the only day we currently have walk-in consultation—sir? Sir!”

 

This last was shouted to Draco's back as he walked with increasing speed towards the office the intern had indicated. The sounds of running footsteps behind Draco prompted him to shoot a couple of spells over his shoulder at the intern. Without looking back, the lack of any further speech behind him told Draco that the intern had successfully been rooted to the floor and rendered mute. Draco strode to the door and stopped short at the plaque square in the middle of the door. He slowly traced a finger over the lettering that read  _ Hermione Granger-Pendlebury _ .

 

Chest tight, he jerked open the door.

 

Three pairs of eyes flickered to him in surprise.

 

“Granger,” Draco said, his voice sounding like a frog's croaking. “Thank God.” Then he stopped short and stared.

 

The first thing he noticed was that Hermione’s hair was cut very short, into a pixie cut and ruthlessly tamed. The second was that the people sitting in front of her were not people, but had the shimmering skin of water shapeshifters. 

 

“Excuse me a second, please,” she said with an apologetic smile to the two before stepping out from behind her desk and walking to him, pulling him from the room by his wrist.

 

When he tried to pull her into his embrace, she lurched backwards in alarm. “What are you doing?”

 

She was looking at him as though he were crazy, and maybe he was because he was starting to feel as though the entire world was crazy. “I need to speak to you. And what have you done with your hair?” She looked so distinctly un-Hermione Granger-ish without a large cloud of thick hair around her face. Had her face always been this small and fragile? He was also certain she had never looked at him with such pulsing annoyance, at least not in recent years.

 

She blinked at him for a moment before directing her next words to the top of the door. “You've got to be kidding me.” Then she turned back to him with her lips firmed in a semblance of civility. “This isn't the best time for a personal visit about my hair. I'm in a meeting right now. Can you call my assistant and schedule something? We can go over—”

 

He grabbed ahold of her wrist and she broke off, staring down at his hand. He let go immediately, but the brief contact had made him long for something that seemed out of reach and yet incredibly familiar. 

 

When she looked back at him, she had calmed down considerably and was considering him with puzzled eyes. “Are you alright, Draco? You—” She seemed to be unable to find the words to describe him and it made her look slightly agitated. “You're not—yourself.”

 

“Something's wrong, Granger. Something's really wrong with this world.”

 

Her eyes flickered and she started to look alarmed. She regarded him for a moment longer and then she bit her lip, seeming to have come to a decision. “Okay,” she said, nodding. “Give me—give me five minutes. Don't go anywhere.”

 

He let out a breath of relief as she looked once more towards him for confirmation. He nodded and she went back into the room, closing it behind her with a bright apologetic, “Now where were we?”

 

The pimply intern came up again, followed by another man, this one wearing very posh work robes.

 

The intern pointed a finger at Draco. “Him.” 

 

When Draco bared his teeth at the younger man, the intern shuffled away so that he was shielded by his companion. “She told me to wait for her.” Draco’s appearance was the very picture of truculence, with arms crossed and spread legs. “So I'm waiting.”

 

The posh man smiled at Draco, revealing very white and even teeth. Draco disliked him at once. “Trent Pendlebury.” The toothy man held out a hand. When Draco didn't immediately react, the man reached forward and grasped Draco's hand with a two-handed grip, giving it a few pumps. Draco disengaged his hand and glared at him.

 

“You're Draco Malfoy. It's always great to meet one of Hermione's friends,” Pendlebury said.

 

Draco stared at the man. “You're American.”

 

“Guilty.” The man flashed another smile that was just a little too practiced and made Draco long to hex his teeth right off. “Hermione talks of you often, you know. Your charitable foundations set you apart from the other old timers.”

 

“Are you her long-lost brother or something?” Draco asked, feeling his stomach churn, like he was about to vomit all over Pendlebury's shiny shoes.

 

Pendlebury laughed, although Draco didn't think he had said anything particularly amusing. “I'm her husband. Guilty, yes, husband to the great British heroine.”

 

Draco didn't smile or laugh. He stared at the man for a second before he yelled out, “Hermione!”

 

Pendlebury didn't even turn a hair, as though he met all the time with strange men calling out his supposed wife's name in the middle of the work day in office buildings. His hands were even in his pockets as he smiled at Draco. “She didn't tell you? Well, we've—I've only just come to England. I suppose she hasn't had time to inform all her friends.”

 

The sense of panic was really strong now, and the man was completely wrong—Draco and Hermione weren't just  _ friends _ , they were husband and wife, lovers, accomplices...

 

They had become civil acquaintances first, in the aftermath of the last battle. Then, in the dearth of fellow Slytherins in postwar England, they had spoken more and more—first as prisoner liaison and son of Lucius Malfoy, then as political consultants, and then friends and something else that made him wish stranger things  _ could _ happen, such as a Granger and a Malfoy being together as more than friends. It was a fleeting thought that passed through his head, and he convinced himself that it didn't mean anything. 

 

So he had dismissed any stirrings he had felt.

 

“You're married to Hermione Granger?” he asked now of the toothy American. He put a hand up to his head, where he could feel beads of sweat congregating. This all seemed like some strange dream from which he couldn't awaken. 

 

“Yes, a few years ago, she was sent over with a delegation and there I was, working with an advocacy group. I persuaded her that with her passion and research skills, she was absolutely wasted in government. So here we are, partners in work and life.”

 

Draco let the words wash over him like smoke from a fire and almost fell backwards when the door opened behind him. 

 

“Thank you,” Hermione said to the selkie duo. “We'll be in touch.” Then she stared at the tableau in front of her and gestured Draco inside her office with a curt jerk of her head.

 

As Draco stepped into her office, he saw over the top of Hermione’s head the questioning look on Pendlebury’s face, as though asking if she needed physical backup. Draco took the doorknob and politely gestured Hermione in. Then he closed the door behind him with a loud bang and locked it with his wand.

 

Hermione seemed to have come to some sort of resolution while she was in her meeting. She stared at him without expression before moving behind her desk and sitting down, clasping her hands together over the top and gazing at him without speaking.

 

Her composure slipped a little at his opening words. “Granger, have you ever heard of a chronostarii?”

 

Her eyes sharpened and she unclasped her hands. “Of course I have. Incredibly rare. They age randomly, old one day, young the next. Their deaths are unpredictable, and they know things—yet it’s completely useless because they live on a timeline that’s so different from ours. Why do you ask?”

 

Draco threw himself into one of the chairs opposite her desk and shuffled it loudly forward as close to the desk as it would go. He watched as she grew visibly more expectant and impatient as the chair screeched against the floor. “Well, I met one.”

 

“You did? How—how can you be sure? They almost never—”

 

“Look, it’s either that it actually happened or I’ve been obliviated and my memory tampered with and my home’s been taken over by my ex-fiancee. I just need someone— _ you _ —to tell me exactly what’s true and what isn’t.”

 

“Are you stuck in a time loop?” she asked, her eyes so wide he felt as though he were drowning in them.

 

“No! At least, I don’t think so. It’s just—we’re supposed to be married and I woke up and we’re not.” He kept his eyes on her to gauge her reaction.

 

At that, she broke eye contact and looked away, a tint of red marring her cheeks. “That’s not possible.”

 

Her response stirred up some anger within him. He scoffed. “Right. That's so much less possible than you being actually married to that grinning fool outside.” He slashed a disbelieving hand towards the door.

 

“That happens to be my husband you’re talking about.” Her voice was as soft as his was loud.

 

Her husband. The phrasing made him push to his feet and pace about her office. “You know what? We’re supposed to fix this.” He didn’t understand why it had only just dawned on him now. He raked a hand through his hair and grinned at her in triumph. “I wouldn’t have had that dream otherwise. That’s the reality, and this whole thing—Astoria and that strange pillock out there—is the dream.”

 

“That makes no sense at all.” She didn’t move from her desk or look concerned. “I’m not the one who’s met the chronostarii. None of this is supposed to have affected me.”

 

“Well, then, you tell me what this is all supposed to be about!” Draco said. “I saw our life together, Granger. It’s supposed to be you and me all along. I’ve had recurring dreams of our life together for the past week now and they seem—so real. Real enough that I can't help but think—”

 

“Where were you yesterday?” Hermione had taken out a quill and looked expectantly at him, for as though he were one of her cases.

 

“In Honsfleur.”

 

Her quill paused over the parchment. “Where I took you? By the wharf?”

 

“I—yeah.”

 

“It's a Muggle place.” She looked wonderingly at him.

 

He scratched his jaw and didn't look at her. “I'm aware.”

 

“And you met the chronostarii there?”

 

Draco spread his hands. “I thought she was a little girl. There was a car coming straight at her and I thought she was going to be struck. I simply acted without thinking twice.” With his hands, he pantomimed the accident, complete with being struck by the car.

 

“You could have died.” He almost felt like smirking at her concern and horrified expression.

 

“She said she’d give me a favour.” He trailed off, not wanting to explain what had flashed in his mind and the subsequent conversation with the chronostarii. “I saw our wedding. Our life together.” His voice was low. From the corner of his eyes, he caught her leaning forward to strain to hear. 

 

Hermione was silent for a moment. Her quill was unmoving in her hand, and she stared blankly down at the paper for a long minute before looking up at him with a friendly smile. “Well, of course, who wouldn’t be curious at that?”

 

“But I woke up here instead. Where you’re married to that Pendleton fool.”

 

She rolled her eyes. Her shoulders had eased downward and she looked much less tense than a moment ago. “First of all, you should never accept favours from magical beings. Isn’t that like History of Magic 101? I doubt you even met a chronostarii, if that's the case. Second, I’m pretty sure you were engaged to Astoria when I last saw you. So this isn’t a giant surprise at all. It sounds like you drank some hallucinogenic potion.””

 

“Granger.”

 

“Do you even know how rare chronostarii are? I would think they're even more strict about the meddling of time than we are, if you even met one. If you met one and you were actually sent to a different time, you'd have to operate under specific rules and—just...time is  _ not _ to be meddled with. So just—”

 

Draco held up a hand and she trailed to a stop. “Fine, Granger, I'm hallucinating. But what if I had actually met one, and she took me to an alternate time where we  _ did _ get married and we're really happy. Don’t you—don't you ever wonder?”

 

He stared her down and forced her to keep eye contact. He felt somehow as though if he could keep her staring at him long enough, that she would see it as he did, that they should have been together all along. For a moment, it seemed as though her body swayed toward him. Then she lifted a hand to brush the hair out of her eyes, and her ring glinted under the light. It seemed to release her from the moment's enchantment. 

 

He caught her hand in his. “Didn't you ever wonder? I do. Almost daily. I wonder what could have been.”

 

She squeezed his hand and then extricated herself. “We were friends for a long time. A  _ really _ long time. At one point, I started thinking that maybe... but that's long in the past! Anyway, it couldn’t have worked out, you know. Now you appear out of the blue and ask me something so hypothetical—I really don't know what to tell you.”

 

“When?” His voice cracked. “When did you start thinking that we could...be together?”

 

She turned her face away and now, courtesy of her short hair, he could see the flush that traveled from her neck up to her cheekbones. “Oh, there was really no point. I mean, you were seeing Astoria by then, and I just didn't see the point in disrupting what seemed like a perfect match.”

 

Something seemed to have lodged in his throat. “Granger, you—why didn't you say anything?” 

 

She scoffed. “Right. And go against that strong sense of duty you have to your forebears? Even I couldn't presume to go against centuries of tradition.” She gave him a challenging look in return. “You didn't either, which is why this is all  _ really _ out of the blue here.”

 

“Leave him.” Draco had lurched to his feet and had both hands on her desk.

 

“Don't be ridiculous.” She shooed him with her hands as she tried to herd him from the room. Ineffectively, because he refused to budge.

 

“Why wouldn’t it have worked?” he asked, belligerent now. “Because you wouldn’t have wanted a father-in-law who was a convicted Death Eater?”

 

She met his eyes then. “No. Because his dying wish for you was for you to marry a Pureblooded wife.”

 

He stared at her in disbelief. “You're kidding me, right? Of all the things you could have said that stood in our way, I would not have listed  _ my dead father _ among them.”

She shook her head, looking impatient at his lack of understanding. “You’ve always carried him and his wishes with you, Draco. It’s not up to me to change your mind. You dated Astoria, and you proposed to her. We are not children; we are adults. Do you understand what that means? You can’t go through life living from regret to regret. You’ve got to own up to your own actions.  _ I _ have. I love Trent. We have a good life together. We  _ do _ ,” she said with hard emphasis when he gave a loud snort.

 

“Granger.” He didn’t even notice how his voice broke. “We're the ones who should be together. I saw it, you know, the wedding, our life together. We're so  _ right _ for each other.”

 

Her eyes softened for a moment before she turned away. “Draco, there's no dwelling on what could have been. We both married other people. If it had been so right or good, then we wouldn't be with other people.”

 

The conversation was clearly meant to be over. Draco found himself urged along the hall towards the Floo. He was back in the Manor before he knew what happened.

 

“Mistress says to tell you she'll be out with her sister all day, Master,” Meeper came to tell him, and he ignored her as he trudged back upstairs to his bedroom and fell across the bed.

 

He hid his head under a pillow and groaned. It had all been a dream. The dream of a wedding and a life with Hermione. 

 

What the bloody hell had happened?

 

He was buggered if he knew.

 

Damn that chronostarii. There was a reason that there were so few of them in existence.


	3. Da Capo

Which part of that was the dream and which was his future? 

 

When Draco woke up, he was incredibly confused. He appeared to be lying in the middle of the road again in Honfleur, France. He couldn’t remember going to sleep in France, but he definitely knew he hadn’t been anywhere in Honfleur the day before. Furthermore, he now couldn't tell where the dream ended and the possible reality started, or where he fell on the timeline now, linearly or hypothetically.

 

He gazed all around, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes when he spied a small girl standing in front of him. He started so hard that he almost fell backwards in his haste to inch away. 

 

“You!” The sound was ripped out of his throat like a growl from hell. Draco tried to lunge towards her, but found that his legs had gone to sleep. He fell back onto the pavement with a gravelly groan.

 

The little girl didn’t move an inch. Draco took a second look at her and found that this time—provided that nothing had been a dream—the chronostarii really was a little girl of about six. Her skin was unlined and she had a slight overbite. The only thing old about her was her expression, which was otherworldly in its patience.

 

“What—happened? Why am I here again?” He had gone from confused to depressed to disgruntled in less than a minute and his head was swirling. It felt as disorienting as having undergone a Crucio.

 

“Take your time. It’s always disconcerting coming back.”

 

Draco stared at the little girl and she stared back at him, raising an eyebrow at him. It amazed him how old she could look, with the physicality of a little girl, but having the expression of someone older than time itself.

 

“I don’t understand.” He tried to work out his thoughts. “Did any of it actually happen?”

 

“In a sense.” She watched him with unblinking eyes. 

 

He took a deep breath. “Am I married to Astoria?” 

 

“Not yet.” 

 

He felt a relief so vast that he fell backwards to lie flat on the ground. He stared up at the blue sky, where even the clouds had stopped in their motion. He wondered if the sun had similarly ceased to move across the sky. 

 

“But you were always going to. In most incarnations of you.” 

 

Draco scowled at that. “Then...what did I wish for?”

 

“Your one regret was that you didn't know what being in love was like. The only version of you that’s fallen in love has fallen in love with Hermione Granger. You thought you were going to see yourself married to her—but that was always going to be an unfulfilled dream. As you saw, it was a dream you keep having well into the future.”

 

He could feel the blow of that like a hammer through his skull. That dream of happiness, followed up by that strange experience, still reverberated through his head. His heart was still pounding in his chest, and he laid a hand there. “So I never marry Hermione Granger.” Until right at this very moment, he had never realised the extent of all that he felt for her.

 

The chronostarii laughed, and the sound was surprisingly youthful and melodious. “You're talking about the wedding? I thought you would have caught on by now. That was always a pipe dream of yours. In most lives where you've met her.”

 

There was a pounding in Draco's ears and he gripped his hands into fists at his sides. “How is this a favour to me?”

 

“Haven’t you ever heard that it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?”

 

Draco wanted to strangle her. “Haven't you heard that ignorance is bliss?”

 

“I showed you a regret. You wanted to see how it played out. You accepted my offer.” She shrugged. “There's no such thing as a free lunch. I would have thought your father would have taught you that.”

 

Draco rubbed the middle of his forehead, which hadn't stopped pulsing since he woke up. “Look, what can I...how do I fix it?”

 

“I'm a time witch, not a love witch. I have no idea. There’s never been an incarnation of you that marries her, only dreams of it.” 

 

He stared at her. “How many incarnations of me have you met?”

 

“I’ve only ever met this one, but you can know of things you haven’t seen personally.”

 

“This is a mistake.” Draco rose to his feet. “Send me back.”

 

“I’ve already sent you back. You had your chance and you missed it.”

 

“When? When did I have that chance?”

 

“Think hard.”

 

* * *

 

_ A few years ago _

 

“So, Astoria Greengrass? What do you think?” Hermione asked. “She’s perfect for you.”

 

It was an odd friendship, but it had developed and grown strong regardless. It had been strong enough that when she asked, he had agreed to be Astoria's date to a charity event and multiple other functions.

 

“Chatty,” he said.

 

“That’s perfect for you, isn’t it? You being so glib nowadays and happy with your life.”

 

He scowled at her. “It’s probably because I’m always with you that I’m at a loss for words and frowny.”

 

She snorted a laugh. “Well, luckily, you’ll be marrying Astoria, right?”

 

“Maybe if I were doing some compromise, I should just go all the way out. Like with a Muggleborn witch. What do you think, would the world fall off its axis if we went out together?” He had meant it as an actual serious question, but unfortunately, his emphasis landed on the wrong word. It sounded more like a bid to sooth his ego.

 

“Quite possibly,” she said.

 

It had started as a joke, but suddenly he realised that he was dead serious. He wasn’t completely certain, but he thought he might be. It was just too scary a thing to admit to himself, because he had a feeling being rejected by her would hurt a lot more than any other setbacks in his life. So he carried on using the hypothetical. “Would you though?” 

 

She gave him a disbelieving look. “Are you serious?”

 

“What if I were?”

 

She laughed a little before she said, “Then I’d say you were too late. I’ve been seeing someone for a few weeks now, if you had bothered to pay attention, and…”

 

He had been paying attention. Close attention. He had told himself that she wasn’t serious about that man, just as he hadn’t been serious about an arranged marriage. Actually meeting Astoria Greengrass had made things so much more serious and less abstract. This wasn't a game here, his life. 

 

But now, he was being rejected in the hypothetical as well as the actual.

 

He lost any ability to joke and he turned away from her. “Forget it, Granger.”

 

She detained him with a hand on his upper arm. “Draco.” 

 

He forced himself to look back at her with a bored expression on his face. 

 

“You're serious.” Her eyes flickered over his face so intently that it felt like a physical caress. She looked stunned; her hands floundered in the air. “I'm sorry, I didn’t realise that you were serious.” Her words came out in a rush. She was staring at him, with those large, intent eyes that made him feel like he could see his world begin and end with her. “I just never thought that you could feel that way about me.” She was consoling him now in the worst possible way, as an explanation for her rejection. “I—look, I knew that you initially put up with me because it helped with your—father’s case. And it was fine! And-and—” Her eyes cast about around him as though she could find clues there. “It’s just...I'm always the one who contacts you first, or-or invites you places. You never—I never even thought you could think of me that way! Wait, Draco—”

 

“Forget it, Granger,” he said again. “It was just a question, not a proposal. Have fun with your wizard. I'm sure you two will set the world on fire.”

 

He Disapparated before she could say another word.

 

He went on more dates with Astoria, who was a perfectly nice person. She never shone with a brightness that lit the room with a thousand suns, which was how he felt when Granger laughed genuinely at something he said. She didn't make the world stop on its axis, which was how it felt when his eyes met Granger's and she looked at him, really looked at him, although he hadn't realised until he started dating someone else.

 

A month later, he bumped into Granger coming out of Flourish and Blotts floating a stack of books in front of her. He ducked his head and affected not to see her, but she yelled, “Draco!” and then he had to stop.

 

“You stopped returning my owls,” she said.

 

“I've been busy.” He avoided looking at her eyes but failing when they were fastened on him like magnets. Her eyes were so unfairly large and intense

he had trouble looking away.

 

“I heard that you're dating Astoria now.” She looked away, doing some spellwork to make all the books jump up, re-sort, and collapse in on themselves so they formed one compact book that she manually stowed into her bag.

 

He kept his eyes on her book rather than at her face. “Yes, I am. We Purebloods have to stay together, don't we.” He couldn't resist adding that jibe in his most sarcastic voice. Ironic, really, that he was saying this in mockery when he had quoted such beliefs to her for the first part of his life.

 

“I-” She looked discomfited and not a little hurt. “Draco, are you really going to keep avoiding me from now on?”

 

He shrugged again. “I'm busy,” he said, still not looking her in the face.

 

She looked down at her feet and said, “All right, Draco. I'm sorry to take up your time. I-I’m not seeing anyone anymore, so if you ever needed me for anything, you can, er, reach me by owl or whatever,” she finished in a rush, face flushed, before she muttered, “Bye!” and fled before he had time to absorb everything she said.

 

He didn’t do a thing to stop her from going. 

 

Six months later, she left for the U.S. 

 

She didn't come back alone.


	4. Dal Segno

“This was the worst favour in the world,” he said and tried to summon up some semblance of outrage. The events of the future had seeped it out of him and his words sounded flat instead.

 

“Was it really though?” The chronostarii looked skeptical. “Seems like it would be good to know how you would feel about it in a few years' time.”

 

“It was a dream, though. Granger never—she never returned my feelings. It's a stupid lost cause.”

 

The chronostarii raised an eyebrow. “Do you think she is the one to blame for that? I didn't see you asking her anything but a half-hearted hypothetical question.” The chronostarii then settled herself next to Draco and took up his hand in hers. He was surprised to see that her hand was wrinkled and spotted with age again. “What time gives me the ability to see is that there are so many different outcomes, if only we let go of ourselves and our preconceptions. You thought it was a lost cause before you even tried. If you want to know the outcome of an action, action must be taken. Pride, cowardice, fear are the most common bedfellows of those living in regret.”

 

He had to stifle a loud groan. Could he have worse luck, to be hit by a blasted Muggle car only to run into a time witch who granted him the favour of a lecture on his faults? 

 

She was still talking. “Have you ever done anything in your life that was your decision? Life has so many possibilities, but in all the iterations I’ve seen of you, it was the same when it came to someone you really, truly fancied. But it’s because of you yourself that it’s this way. When are you going to actively take part in your own life and start making decisions of your own?”

 

Draco tried to rise above her comments. “So what should I do now?” He wasn’t expecting an answer, since he was mainly asking himself. It was starting to feel natural in this limbo where nothing moved forward and nothing concrete or painful could come from his actions. Action was never his forte anyway. So he remained where he was, gazing at all the stiff, unmoving figures around him. 

 

She nodded thoughtfully and stared at him for such a long time that he gazed back at her in expectation of some profound tidbit of wisdom. “Come with me.”

 

Draco wasn’t sure whether he should follow her now, especially after the debacle of the possible future, but he rose to his feet and moved slowly after her.

 

She stopped a short distance from the dented car, pointing to a spot in the road. “This was where I was standing when you ran out to save me. You made a choice to save me then, and that’s taking action.”

 

He shifted uneasily. “I wasn’t thinking.” 

 

“Then maybe that’s what you need to not do. Whenever you’re told to do something, you always make the wrong decision. But you do the right thing when it’s by instinct and without overthinking.” She smiled at him then. “You know what you need to do. You just need to get up and actually go do it. Especially considering Hermione Granger is leaving for the U.S. in two weeks.”

 

“You're going to send me back in time?” Draco wasn’t sure whether to be elated or scared. The last time had been such a dismal failure.

 

“Nah,” the chronostarii said. “You can still make it. You've held the real magic of time within you all along. It's called an apology. Turns back all sorts of time and mistakes.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was late by the time Hermione Granger came home that day. A tall figure unfolded itself from the darkness and stepped forward.

She did a double take when she saw who it was outside her building. “Oh. Hello. What a surprise.”

“Hermione.” 

There was something about the way Draco spoke her name that made her breath hitch. She hid her reaction and fumbled for her keys. “It's been a long time.” She carefully moved past him without touching him and paused before the stairs. “Did you come to give me your wedding invitation?”

He laughed a little without mirth. “No.” Unlike the last time they spoke on that horrible day, he was looking straight into her eyes. They were unguarded and bright and it made her think of the times when they chatted about whatever they had on their minds.

But that was a long time ago. Almost half a year ago. She turned away from him and climbed up the steps.

When she would have gone in and closed the door, he spoke up again. “Actually, I came to say a lot of things. Starting with an apology. Can I come in?”

She wavered. He was engaged and it really wasn't proper of them to be alone in her flat. She knew if she were the fiancee that news of such activity regarding her future husband wouldn't go over well. She wasn't planning on doing that sort of thing to anyone.

“We can sit outside if you prefer.” His jaw was tight and he seemed nervous. “It's quite a tale that I have for you. It involves a chronostarii and the biggest regret of my life. Did I mention there's an apology in it for you?” 

“Please.” His voice was barely above a whisper and his face was stiff. There was a beat at the base of his jaw that pulsed faster than normal, and she realised he wasn't as blasé as he pretended. Then, there were his words.  _ Please _ wasn't a word he used often, and never had he apologised for anything to her.

She nodded slowly. “Okay. I'm listening.”

His swallow was so audible that it told her something of his anxiety; made her curious for more. The smile on his face was bright with relief and some other emotion that made her breath catch in her throat. She sat down on the stairs and he followed suit, taking a seat on the step below her.

“It all started…” 

  
  


_ fin _

**Author's Note:**

> End Notes: This fest was surprisingly challenging and I ended up writing three different versions of this before cutting it ruthlessly down to just under 10,000 words. I cut out four chapters from the second version and multiple other scenes from the final version to make the cut. The extended version will be posted after the fest ends, though I think there's something to be said about brevity. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Acknowledgements: Thank you for Jamethiel for helping me with the initial draft of this fic and theLastLynx for doing some majorly last minute beta work. Thank you most of all to mojojojoiamhe for reading through three versions of this fest piece and helping me to reorganise the timeline and pick through scenes. Seriously, many of the best ideas came from her, and she's not even a Dramione fan.
> 
> Thanks always to the mods who came up with this fest and worked really hard to make it come together. On top of their own writing, they served as always positive cheerleaders and liaison between the gifters. 
> 
> To otteryardent a special thanks for giving me the opportunity to work with this aesthetic prompt, and many profuse apologies for not being able to write anything (new) for the first, incredibly awesome aesthetic (which I would actually love for a previous work I've done!).


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